


Flames Past

by bluejorts



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: I'm feeding juno dumb bitch juice here, NSFW in later chapters, Other, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Nureyev, if i dont update monthly yell at me, lots of fire, murder investigation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2020-11-27 03:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejorts/pseuds/bluejorts
Summary: The blaze that swallowed the Quayside house was never proven intentional. There wasn’t enough evidence, there weren’t enough people that cared. Not after they opened the smoke blackened doors and saw the bodies.alt. title: 'Juno Steel and the Thing That Came Back to Bite Him in the Ass'(this is an au)





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! welcome!!!!! i wrote this!!!!!!
> 
> first thing's first, I intend to update this monthly but I'm impatient so the actual story isnt yet finished in my docs BUT. IT WILL BE. I SWEAR. i will include a trigger list at the beginning of every chapter! this fic will contain a lot of fire and fire-induced deaths. there will be perils, there will be fighting, there will be Fucking. 
> 
> Warnings:  
\- swearing  
\- food

There's a cat staring at him from the alley. Juno refuses to stare back; he drums his fingers over the wheel of his car and waits. 

Keeps waiting. 

And waiting.

His knee starts to twitch.

“Sorry boss, I was talkin’ to the lady behind the counter ‘n’ the time just slipped away! She said somethin’ about one of the streams I was watchin’ last week - the one about the lady who found out her husband was secretly -”

“Thanks, Rita. Did you get the package?”

“Oh! Course I did! And she said I only had to pay half ’a the handlin’ fee on account of me bein’ so nice. Ain’t that sweet?”

Juno snorts. He doubts that’s the reason. “It’s darling, Rita. Lets go.”

He puts the car into gear and maneuvers smoothly back onto the main road. The cat stares at him the whole while, until he’s solidly out of view and then - he suspects - it moves on to stare at someone else. As cats do.

When they get back to the studio he takes the package from Rita and lets her unlock the doors. Benzaiten won’t be in until later, so the lights are off as they enter. He deposits the box onto the reception desk and flicks them on, watching fluorescence catch and pop and reluctantly come to life. The reception area isn’t much, just Rita’s desk; the wall next to it covered in a collage of posters so deep it bulges far further out than the pale blue paint of the rest of the room. On from there Juno walks past the changing rooms and into the open space of the actual studio. His reflection walks in tandem with him (as reflections are wont to do) as he surveys the space. The floor is clean, wooden, and scuffed with two years worth of footsteps. He makes a solid lap, hands in the pockets of his coat, picking up his feet just enough that they don’t trail.

At the end of his lap he opens a door on the other side of the room to the one he came in through and walks into his office. Or rather,  _ their  _ office. He shares this space with Benten, as can clearly be seen by the fact that it looks like two hurricanes have swept through, rather than just one. There’s no clear distinction between the mess that is Juno’s and the mess that’s his brothers, and he has to dig through a pile of miscellaneous papers on the desk and under one of Benten’s hoodies before he finds the schedule for the day. He has a class at nine, then a private tutoring session at ten thirty before Benten comes in to take over; he’s the real teacher here. It’s  _ his  _ passion. 

Benten always wanted to be a dancer, ever since he was little. He used to practice for hours in the lounge every Monday afternoon - skived off school early to catch the streams that would run of those dance competitions that he talked non-stop about entering. 

Obviously, that didn’t go to plan. After - after what happened, with the nerve damage, the constant pain, the fits, Benten figured he’d never get to do that. He pretended like that was fine. Like it wasn’t his  _ biggest _ dream, Juno, don’t be dramatic. 

It wasn’t easy to see, when they were younger. Benten settling for a job at a grocery store while Juno finished at the academy and was recruited into Dark Matters. But that was then, before Juno’s eye and his retirement and the wad of cash shoved at him to keep his mouth shut about the agency. That was before that cash turned into this studio and Juno put out the ads for dance lessons and they slowly but surely built a reputation. 

Juno digs further through the things piled high around the shared desk for a pair of plimsolls, which he replaces his worn boots with after he finally removes his coat. His comms tell him that it’s eight fifty, which he responds to by groaning and shuffling back out into the studio to stretch. 

His lessons pass quickly and, thankfully, calmly. The one kid that tends to start arguments in his first class isn’t here today, so he doesn’t lose his temper once. And his tutor session is with a woman learning to salsa to surprise her wife, who keeps getting flustered whenever she talks about it, which is adorable. He’s just out of the shower and into his street clothes when Benten arrives and throws a cereal bar at his head. 

“Think fast.” His warning comes after the bar has bounced off Juno’s skull and landed on the ground, and comes with a grin that means that’s exactly what he was hoping would happen. 

“Nice.” Juno rolls his eye, bending to pick the thing up and place it on Rita’s desk. “I  _ will  _ take you to court for that.”

“They’ll take one look at your face and know you deserved it.”

“Call for you, Mista Ben.” Rita interrupts. “I’ll send it through to ya comms.” 

Ben gives her a salute and leans heavier onto his stick as he presses to accept the call. He grimaces at Juno and then speaks with faux cheerfulness into the mic. 

“Mr. Jackson, nice to hear from you so early. Yes, I know and - of course he is, we’re making sure that he - I have been informed of that, yes. He’s a very special boy, I - absolutely. Yes. I can do that.” He rolls his eyes at Juno and trudges down the hall, making noises of affirmation and managing to get out a half sentence at a time as he goes. 

Juno breathes a laugh and turns to Rita. She’s staring raptly at one screen, where a muted scene shows a man yelling, pointing his finger in accusation at someone beyond the view of the camera. On the other, streams of words fly past as her fingers skitter across the keyboard. He doesn’t ask, or interrupt, just grabs his keys from inside her pen pot and walks out the door. 

He drives home, lies down, and immediately falls asleep. His alarm wakes him three hours later - or, not his alarm. His comms is beeping, yelling at him that he has an incoming call. He peers at it and his stomach drops out when he sees the name. He answers.

“What?” 

“Lovely speaking to you too, Juno.”

“I’m busy, Sasha. Whose funeral am I being invited to this time?”

“You really think I’d only call to tell you someone’s died?” 

“Why else? Like I said, I’m busy. Make it quick.”

“I had no idea forced retirement was so taxing.”

“Quick. Or I hang up now and block your number. For good.”

Sasha Wire sighs on the other side of the line. “Fine. You’re needed on a case.”

“Oh, Sasha, the stress of being so high up that food chain must really be getting to you. You just said yourself: I’m retired.”

“Well you’re being un-retired for the time being.”

Juno barks a laugh and rolls onto his back, stretching a crick out of his neck. “You really that desperate over there? Need a pirate like me back?” 

“Yes.”

“Huh. That was blunt.”

“It’s the Quayside case, Juno.”

“Oh, fuck  _ off _ .” He sits up now, glaring at the air in front of him. “Really? You want me to come back and jump right back into  _ that  _ shitshow? Last time I was there I almost  _ died _ , Wire. And that was when I had  _ both  _ my eyes.”

“Last time you were there, you were alone.” 

“Oh so I'll be getting a partner on this one? Of course I'll do it then! You know I  _ love  _ getting other people killed, Sasha!”

“Juno, it's -”

“I thought you were hiring me for a case, Sasha. It's Dahlia, again, don't you remember?” 

“ _ Juno _ -”

“Or no - let me guess, I have a different name this time? How  _ exciting _ , I can't wait to bloody my hands again in business that isn't mine with a  _ name  _ that isn’t either.”

“Juno! Listen to me!” Sasha yells so loud Juno winces. “I know you think this is a joke, but trust me. I wouldn't be calling you unless I absolutely had to.” A sigh. He can almost hear her rubbing the wrinkles out of her forehead. “Annalise is out.” 

Juno's blood freezes, ice spreading down his veins and numbing his hands. “What?”

“We think she made a deal with Cecil Kanagawa.”

“ _ Cecil?  _ Wh -”

“From what we can gather, she offered him good footage. Footage better than he'd ever get in Hoosegaw.”

“What does  _ that  _ mean?”

“We don’t know. We know next to  _ nothing  _ about her, Juno. You’re one of the only people that’s ever been close enough to talk to her and lived.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way. I’m not taking this, Sasha. Go find one of the other poor sons of bitches who’ve dealt with her before.”

Before Sasha can answer, Juno has hung up the call and flings his comms across the room to land on a pile of laundry. It doesn’t ring again. 

He lies there for a while, eyes shut, trying his best to get to sleep again with no success. So he gets up and wanders into the kitchen to root through the fridge. There’s not much in there, aside from containers of leftover pasta that Juno doesn’t remember making and an abundance of milk to fuel Benten’s cereal addiction. He sighs, grabs his coat, tries to fix his hair but gives up, and heads out to his car.

He’s only gone for a few hours, and he doesn’t think anything of it when he opens the door and the picture frames in the hall look straighter than when he left. 

“Hello there, Juno Steel.”

Juno drops the carrier he’s holding, bag of rice within splitting and spilling out onto the carpet. He goes to grab a gun that he no longer owns, and stares, wide eyed, ahead of him. At the man lounging on his couch like he owns it. 

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, sir.”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Juno hisses. 

“My name is Rex Glass, I’m with Dark Matters. Agent Wire sent me to -”

“Oh  _ great. _ ” Juno growls. The fight or flight tension of finding an intruder drops out of him. He points harshly back towards the front door. “Nice meeting you. Now get out.”

The man doesn’t look the least bit perturbed, he drums his fingers on his knee, legs folded under him. He’s wearing sunglasses, which is just so  _ fitting _ for Dark Matters, but Juno has the irrational desire to see the eyes underneath, find out if they’re as soft as his cheeks or as sharp as his teeth where they peek out as he smirks.

“Please, take a seat, Agent Steel - or, my apologies, it’s simply  _ Mr _ Steel, these days, is it not?”

“It was never Agent  _ Steel _ , and you know it.” Juno bends down to pick up his shopping, leaving the rice on the ground and promising in his head to deal with it before Benten gets home.

“Of course. Agent Rose, wasn’t it? I’ve read about you, very impressive.”

“Flattery won’t get you anything, jackass.”

“I apologise. Would you prefer we talk business right away?”

Juno opens a cupboard and pulls out a jar to pour the salvaged rice into. “There's no business to talk about. I already told Sasha, I'm not interested. I'm afraid you wasted a trip.” 

He turns around, and Glass is right there. Juno didn't hear him get up, didn't feel him there even though he's close enough that Juno could step forward and be chest to chest with him. Close enough that Juno has to tilt his chin upwards to meet his eyes. It feels dangerous, he feels vulnerable. Caught between a shark and his kitchen counter, trapped by the eyes he still can't make out behind those glasses.

“I wouldn't say wasted.” Glass shrugs. His hand comes to rest on the counter to Juno's left. He leans in and the air is thick with the scent of him, rich and sweet and intoxicating. He flashes those sharp, sharp teeth and Juno feels like he imagines a deer might; seeing the fox's teeth a second before they sink into its neck. He doesn't think about Glass’ teeth sinking into his throat - tries not to, anyway. “I met you, Mr Steel.”

Juno's lip pulls upwards. “Yeah, sorry about that.” 

The kitchen knives are only just out of his reach, he realises. If he were to push Glass away for a moment, surprise him, he could grab one. But although Juno's hackles remain raised, he doesn't get the feeling that Glass is going to hurt him. 

“No need to be sorry, Mr Steel. It's just a shame I won't be seeing you again. I would very much enjoy having you as a partner on this case.”

Right. The case. Glass was  _ sent  _ here, probably told to convince Juno to join him however he could. Tension fills Juno's shoulders again. He crosses his arms over his chest and his grin shifts into a glare. 

“Yeah, huge shame. I'm not doing it, Glass. Tell Sasha that she can send as many pretty faces over here as she likes, I'm  _ retired _ and I'm staying that way.”

Glass’ eyebrows raise, and the self-confident smirk slides right off of his face, replaced a second later by this new smile. One far less pleasant than the last. His lip curls and his tongue presses against one of his canines when he opens his mouth. He leaves it open for a moment, like he’s picking his next words carefully, and Juno can’t help but look at that tongue, that tooth. 

“I’ll be sure to convey that message.” He steps back, and Juno feels the distance between them like it’s pulling within him. “And I’ll give you the night to make your decision, Mr Steel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Glass turns and saunters towards the door, hand reaching into a coat pocket deeper than it should reasonably be.

“I’ve made my decision, Glass. I’m -”

“ _ Goodnight _ , Mr Steel.” He drops something onto the couch, and then he’s out the door, leaving just his scent and that mysterious object behind.

Juno stands in the kitchen for a moment, before he deflates with a loud groan and runs his hand down his face. 

He pulls a vacuum cleaner out from the back of a closet and runs it over the rice, ignoring the couch until he’s put the shopping away. But once that’s done, he lets his curiosity overtake him and leans cautiously over the back of the sofa.

It's a business card. Small, laminated, black. He picks it up and turns it in his hand to see the name on the other side. 'Rex Glass’, it tells him alongside a number, and then under that in silver pen: ‘in case you change your mind sooner’. 

Juno huffs. Bastard didn't have time to write that as he left, so he must've anticipated Juno's answer to his call and written it earlier. The handwriting was perfectly messy, in the way that says that the writer has a quicker mind than they do a hand. He throws it in the direction of the waste paper basket and sits down heavily. He does  _ not  _ think about Glass for the rest of the evening, doesn’t even bring him up when Benten gets home. He doesn’t think about the glasses while they watch Dancing With Marmosets. He doesn’t think about his smell when he gets up to make dinner for the both of them. And he  _ doesn’t  _ think about those sharp teeth and that predator’s smile while he lies in bed and tries to sleep. 

He has nightmares (as usual). But when he wakes up the only thing he remembers from his fitful night is those teeth on his throat, tearing it out. He feels like he can’t breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just listened to the early release of the new ep and i had to actually post a new chapter of this in celebration

The next day goes much the same as the day before it, though Juno doesn't have to get up so early to collect a package, and instead gets to open the one from yesterday. It's nothing special, just shoes for those in need of them. 

His first lesson is a group of adults who will soon be graduating to Benten's classes. His second is a taster class that has a dishearteningly low turnout. And his third - his third is pencilled in in Rita's loopy calligraphy and says ‘New’. Juno doesn't think much of it, obviously. He goes to grab a drink from the office and thinks about nothing but what he's having for lunch later.

And then he turns around and is caught by black eyes and sharks teeth. 

Rex Glass stands in the doorway of his office, imposing even as lanky as he is. His eyes aren't behind tinted glass any more, just regular lenses. They're a deep, dark brown and Juno feels himself falling into them.

“What are you doing here?” He growls. 

Glass’ eyes seem to shimmer. “I'm here for a lesson, Mr Steel.” 

“Yeah, right. Get out.”

“Oh, I won't be doing that. I paid my fee, I think that means you're  _ obliged _ to teach me, sir.” 

Juno scoffs and pushes past Glass, through a cloud of his scent which proves just as sweet as it had been the night before. 

“I'm not  _ obliged  _ to do shit. And stop calling me sir. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” 

“My apologies, Mr Steel. I would hate to leave anything less than syrup behind those lips of yours. But I  _ did  _ pay, and so at the very least you must remain in this room with me.”

Juno reaches the centre of the space before that stops him. He turns back to Glass and regards him with a sneer. The glasses aren't the only difference in his attire today. Gone is the suit of an agent of Dark Matters, replaced by loose, flowing trousers and a vest far tighter. On his feet are a pair of the shoes Juno picked up yesterday, and they go so well with the outfit that Juno suspects he somehow planned that.

He crosses his arms, then lifts his water bottle to his mouth and takes a long drink. 

“Fine. Start stretching.” He says, wiping his mouth on his wrist and his wrist in turn on his shorts. 

“Of course, Mr Steel - or may I call you Juno?” 

“No.”

“Juno it is!” And Glass grins and stretches out with the fluidity of a cat, one leg out to the side, the other bent underneath him. Despite his drink, Juno's mouth goes dry when he stretches his arms over his head and the lean muscles in them flex. 

He turns away and - just for something to do - walks across the room to put his drink safely away from the open space. When he turns back, Glass is bent double, fingers touching the ground in front of him. He winks at Juno and Juno only just avoids tripping over his own feet.

“What are you going to teach me today, Juno?” Glass asks, standing up and shaking his arms out. Rings on his fingers catch in the light, as does the glittering purple polish on his nails. 

“Nothing until you take that jewellery off. It's a hazard.”

Glass  _ pouts _ . “That doesn't seem fair.”

“Neither does having to cut them off of you if you manage to break a finger.”

“Point taken.” Glass removes them (eight of them, by Juno's count) and shows Juno his bare hands, long and thin. Polished nails chipped and bitten. “And now?”

“How much do you know?” 

“Oh  _ terribly  _ little. Please, start from the basics.”

Juno grimaces. “Fine. Box step.” He comes up in front of Glass, takes his hands without allowing himself a moment to think too much into the action and situates himself perfectly opposite him.

He walks Glass through the basic motions, sending a command through his comms to the speakers in the room to play a metronome count. Glass picks it up quickly. 

“Try not to look at our feet.” 

“May I look at your face, instead?” 

“If you must.” Juno avoids his gaze, as hard as that is.

“Do you like dancing, Juno?” 

“Why else would I do it?” 

“I don't know.” Glass shrugs. “Because your brother does?” 

Juno narrows his eye. “Would that not be a good enough reason?” 

“I'm not sure. I don't have a sibling myself, so I couldn't tell you anything of the bonds of family.” Glass’ skin is unmarked, Juno notices. Not a freckle, mole, or birthmark in sight, though it is covered in a thick layer of makeup. “It simply seems an odd career choice for a lady with a history like yours.”

“Any job would be  _ odd  _ after Dark Matters. Not exactly like I had many options.” 

Glass tilts his head to the side. It's far too easy for Juno to imagine that face leaning closer at that angle, with the way his lips are parted, how his eyes seem focused down from Juno's own. 

“But you have options now, don't you? You've been given the option to return to Dark Matters - if on a temporary basis.”

Juno falters in his step, and his stomach sours. “Doesn't really feel like an option when the guy  _ inviting  _ you back shows up at your current job and hounds you about it.”

“Hounds? I'm here for a lesson, Juno. A lesson in dance, nothing more.” 

Glass steps closer without breaking their movements, his hands slip away from Juno's and run up his arms, snake over his shoulders and lace behind his neck. Juno is acutely aware of how easily Glass could use that position to pull his head towards his knee. The hair on his arms stands on end. 

“Then I don't see why you're bringing up my job.” 

“I'm a curious being, dear. Hence my wanting lessons from you.” 

Juno snorts. His nose is full of the smell of Glass, overpowering everything else. Very reluctantly, he lifts his hands to Glass’ waist. It's shockingly difficult to resist the urge to lift that vest with them and find out whether the skin of his hips feels as soft as his lips look.

“Gotta say, you're doing a good fuckin’ job for someone who claims to know little about the art.”

Glass’ grin is sharp, blinding, and so very close. “I'm a quick learner. And it helps to have a good teacher. I'm impressed at your own skills, Juno. It can't be easy with that eye of yours.”

Juno sighs. His grip on Glass’ waist loosens and he spots a fleeting wrinkle in that clear brow across from him.

“Might've lost my talent with a gun, but I can manage dancing, Glass.” He stops them abruptly. “Glass.  _ Rex Glass _ . What kind of a name is that?” 

“Rex means King.” Glass supplies, barely affected by their stillness. Though now that the light isn't moving across his glasses it's easier to see how often his gaze travels over Juno's lips. “As for Glass, that seems self explanatory, doesn't it?”

“You pick it?” 

Glass blinks. “I - I didn't, no. It was chosen for me by my supervisor.” His arms around Juno's neck shift as he leans a little closer. “What about you,  _ Dahlia _ ? Did you pick your own blossom?”

Juno laughs; leans forwards, closes his eyes, and laughs. “No fuckin’ way. Who picks a name like _ Dahlia Rose _ ? Do I look like a florist to you?”

He opens his eyes and feels Glass’ breath on his nose. His expression is… different. Different to how it has been, with that constant confident smirk and that shine to his eyes like he's thinking about a secret only he is privy to. Now his smile is more in awe, an unguarded amazement almost divine in nature. It takes Juno's breath away.

“Not a florist, no..” He leans down. His voice is quiet, breath reaching Juno's lips and flavored with sugar and mint. “But I wouldn't call you unlike a flower, Juno.” 

The way he says Juno's name then is sweeter still, and Juno can't think of anything other than tasting it off of his lips.

“How so?” Juno finds himself whispering.

“Your beauty is almost - almost delicate.” A fire sneaks into his eyes and his voice takes a lower tone. “I do think I would enjoy breaking you, dear.” 

Juno's breath catches in his throat, a shiver running through him. He makes a small noise that he isn't in control of and leans forward, until their noses are touching, until he can see Glass’ eyes so very clearly as they close behind thick lenses. 

He tilts his head to the side, bending to the geometry of Glass’ face until they fit together like they were  _ meant  _ to and then -

“Juno, you in here?”

The door bursts open. And Juno and Glass fly apart. 

“Oh, shit! My bad! I thought you were finished.” 

Juno looks at his comms. Glass’ lesson was only meant to be short, and it's five minutes past when it should have ended. He runs a hand down his face, trying to get rid of the expectant tingling in his lips.

“Yeah, course. New student, I got carried away showing him the ropes.”

Benten looks  _ far  _ too amused. “Oh of course. I'll let you finish up, but I  _ do  _ have a lesson in like, ten minutes, so don't take  _ too  _ long.”

Juno salutes at him and shoos him away in the same motion. He gets a wink in response and decides that maybe fratricide isn't the  _ worst  _ thing to get locked up for.

The door closes, and Juno is left with the sound of a metronome slower than his current heartbeat, and Glass across from him.

“Sorry about that.” 

“No need, no need.” Glass is fishing his rings out of the pockets of his pants and carefully putting them back on. “You forget how fast time passes when you're in good company.”

“Yeah. Right.” 

Glass looks up and flashes a smile that is back to secretive, no more of the openness of just a second ago. “I'm sad to go. And I hope that I'll see you again someday, Juno.”

Juno nods. He watches Glass head towards the door, and then he gives into the dumbest impulse he's had all day.

“Glass?”

“Juno?”

“I'm coming with you.”

Glass’ brows raise, and he smiles wider. “I'm glad to hear so.”

“On one condition.”

“Mhm?”

“If I come with you, you'll tell me your name.” 

Glass’ hand falls away from the door handle and into his pocket. He turns to face Juno head on.

“You know my name.” He takes two steps towards Juno.

“Your real name.” 

“That wouldn't be very professional of me.”

“No.” Juno agrees. “It wouldn't be.”

Glass steps closer, both hands in his pockets now. He looks to be mulling it over, but the steady focus of his eyes on Juno betray decision. 

“Why would I, then?”

“I'm asking you to.”

“Yes. You are, aren't you?” 

Glass is almost as close now as he was when they danced. 

“I am.”

“How about a compromise?” A puff of air over Juno's cheek as he veers sideways in his leaning.

“Mm?”

“I give you my name in pieces. Half now, half if neither of us die at the end of all of this.”

“Sounds like you're trying to give me reason to keep you alive.” 

“It does seem that way, doesn't it? Do you agree to my terms?” 

Juno tilts his head away from Glass’ lips - now at his ear.

“I agree. Tell me who I'm agreeing with.” 

Glass’ mouth travels downwards, lips grazing Juno's neck. He remembers his dream. He remembers the feeling in his kitchen yesterday, like prey. He feels the faintest press of those teeth against his skin.

“Peter.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on Tumblr @ nurgayev!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM actually uploading monthly what do u know!!

He tells himself he’s going to keep this case a secret from Benten. Which lasts about a solid ten minutes after his brother gets through the door, until Juno cracks from pressure put on him by only himself and regales the entire story (leaving out the tension between himself and Peter, and the  _ name _ at all).

“Shit.” Is all Benten has to say. He’s wearing an expression of mild shock, but doesn’t really seem all that bothered, which cracks Juno a little more.

“Aren’t you pissed?”

“Pissed at who? The hot Dark Matters guy?”

“Me! I caved! It shouldn’t’ve been that easy to get me back!”

“Well if you regret it you should just call -”

“I  _ don’t  _ regret it, that’s the problem.”

Benten frowns at him, and then  _ frowns  _ at him. “You want me to be pissed off at you so you can feel justified about being annoyed at yourself.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. You do this all the fuckin’ time. You want this mission, but you don’t  _ like _ that you want it, so you want  _ me  _ to call you a fool for taking it.” He throws a pretzel at Juno. “Well you’re  _ not  _ a fool. You’re Juno, dumbass. You’re my sibling, ‘n I know that even if this is the hardest fuckin’ case in the galaxy you’d be taking it, because you’d feel guilty if you didn’t.” A shrug. “Even if Sasha hadn’t sent some angel faced Agent to sweep you up into it you’d have thought about it all week and called her on Saturday actin’ all grumpy and resigned and like you were taking this as a charity to  _ her _ and not just because you’re a stubborn idiot.”

“I did  _ not  _ say he was angel faced!”

“No,  _ I  _ did. I saw him when you were all up in eachothers faces today. Man’s pretty. Not my type, but pretty.”

Juno scowls and sulks in on himself. It’s completely unfair that Benten is right, that his brother knows him better than anyone else in the galaxy and can see his every motivation without even trying. 

“So… what are you going to do while I’m away?”

“I’ll get Mick to pick up your lessons and -”

“Nope. No you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If you let Mercury anywhere  _ near  _ my classes I’ll come back and they’ll all be doing some fuckin’ Plutonian street dance that doesn’t make any rhythmic sense and did  _ not  _ originate on Pluto. That or they’ll have all quit, and I don’t fancy either of those options.”

“Fine. No Mick, then. I’ll put them on hold. We have a good enough income this month from my lot anyway, so it won't be too bad.”

“Sasha will pay in advance. She knows I'm good on my word, we don't need to worry about money.”

“Well in  _ that  _ case I'm taking the week off and heading out to Olympus Mons.” 

Juno runs a hand over his hair. “That actually wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

“I doubt even with the money you -”

“No. Listen. This case is - this  _ woman  _ I'm after is dangerous. Last time I went up against her I almost didn't make it out alive.”

“Juno, last time you went into a  _ bar _ you almost didn't make it out alive. You have a really murderable face.”

“Hey, jackass, it's your face too.”

“Yeah, but I wear it better.” 

Juno scoffs and hides his smile in the pillow he swats Benten with.

“That's part of my worry. You look like me, and I - I don't want you to get hurt because she figures out I'm on her case and sees you somewhere.”

“We've been getting hurt for each other since we were born.”

“But -”

“No buts. You act like I don't cause shit for you like you do for me, Jay. You forget all the scars I've gotten you.”

“Yeah but -”

“No  _ buts _ . I'm not gonna run away just cause you're scared of some criminal stupid enough to make a deal with Cecil Kanagawa. I'm not even gonna run away from him!”

“That's just ‘cause you think he's hot.”

Benten flips him off. “ _ Cass  _ is hot. Cecil looks like someone took Cass, spliced her with a feral pomeranian and then dunked the whole thing in neon hair dye and overpriced perfume.”

“And you're into it.”

Benten throws the rest of the bag of pretzels into Juno's face. Juno laughs, but his stomach twists. Maybe Benten isn't scared of any of this, and maybe he's an adult in control of his own life, but that doesn't make it any easier to let him keep on with himself while Juno is working for Dark Matters again. 

It was hard enough the first time, when he'd just joined the organization and had been hit with the realisation that the universe was more fucked than he'd ever imagined; had lay in his room knowing that there were billions of people out there who would kill Benten in a second for the creds in his wallet. And then lay in other rooms on other planets knowing that he wasn't there to stop that from happening.

But now? With years enough between him and those thoughts to weaken his defenses to them they dig deep and stick. And a torrent of questions about Rex Glass - Peter, if the name he'd offered wasn't a fake. He lies in his room, he worries, and he dreams of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hit me up on tumblr @ nurgayev ! or if it strikes ur fancy I'm @mxcec on twitter for my feral 3am tweets abt juno being a milf


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! sorry the world went a little crazy for a while there huh, i will be trying to keep updating this! Aaa!!!!! I hope this chapter is up to scratch i wrote it absolutely months ago!

Juno is used to waking up in the ungodly hours of the night. What he  _ isn’t  _ used to is waking up with a distinct, dangerous presence hanging over him. 

He jolts upwards and rolls out of his bed, away from the danger. He lands on his feet and his brain kicks into gear, searching for the best defenses. His blankets - he balls them up and hefts them at his attacker, dropping to the ground to avoid any surprised laser fire, though none comes. He springs up again and vaults around his bed to shove the person, covered in the sheets, into the wall, forearm pressed up where he believes their throat to be. His other arm is all over them, feeling for weapons in their hands, their jacket, pants, belt. They aren’t carrying. And they haven’t made a noise since he woke up. 

“I’m gonna take this off of you, and then you’re gonna tell me just what the  _ fuck _ you were doing.” He growls through laboured breath.

They don’t respond. 

Juno removes his arm from their neck swiftly, pulls the blankets away and puts it back just as quick, before he looks at them properly. His arm tenses when he realises who it is.

“You son of a  _ bitch _ , Glass.”

“Hello to you too, Juno. It’s lovely to see you again, though I  _ would  _ like to be able to breathe for the remainder of this meeting.”

Juno reluctantly takes his arm away, though he remains crowding the agent against the wall. 

“This what Dark Matters has been teaching since I’ve been gone? How to sneak into ladies’ bedrooms?”

Peter laughs, a glint off his teeth from the neon outside. “Oh, no. Not at all. I apologise for startling you. I was going to wake you sooner, but you seemed to be sleeping peacefully.”

Juno snorts. “I wasn’t. You’re lucky I didn’t fuckin’ kill you.”

“Oh, had there been any danger of that I would have stopped you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve tried.”

“Are you doubting me, Juno Steel?” Peter looks down at him and Juno feels as though  _ he’s  _ the one currently pinned against the wall. “Don’t you know that Dark Matters only hires the best of the best?”

“Oh yeah, and what are  _ you  _ the best of?” 

Before he has time to react, there are strong hands on his back, a foot catching his ankle and he’s being spun. He hits the wall harshly, shutting his eye tight at the impact.

He blinks it open, startled, and Peter’s silhouette blocks out the rest of the room. His hands are on Juno, one on his shoulder, the other holding his right wrist against the wall. 

“Many things, Mister Steel.  _ So _ many things.”

Juno bites his lip and does  _ not  _ whimper. At all. Not even a little.

“Now, we should be heading out. We have a hotel booked in Uptown and now is the best and safest time to head out to it. Under the cover of darkness, as it were.”

“Not the most inconspicuous though, is it.” Juno’s head is spinning in a pool of Peter’s cologne too deep for frustration and anger to surface at this sudden plan sprung on him.

“No, but anonymous. Two faceless, nameless figures in the night. Burglars, perhaps? Or drunks?” He leans in, down, putting pressure on Juno’s shoulder. “Or maybe secret lovers? An affair, headed out to a hotel far from their homes for a night nobody must know about.”

Juno opens his mouth, but he finds no way to respond to that. He can’t see Peter’s face, but he could swear he sees his cheeks pull up in the shape of a grin. 

“Come on then, Juno. What are we waiting for?” Peter steps back. Whatever had been building between them, in the space where their breath met, snaps in two and leaves Juno. He can feel the adrenaline leaving him, and his mind is still drowning and spinning and confused by how  _ quick  _ that all just happened. And then he remembers. The case. He's probably just doing this for the case. 

He follows Peter, not sure what else he can do.

The Quayside had been a mansion high in Uptown, with twenty-third century style architecture and a waterfall from the fourth story to the ground in the city below. It was beside no actual quay, because none existed on Mars (as far as Juno knew), but had been named after the Quayside family; a family whose tree was traceable back to Earth hundreds of years ago. A family that had all died in that house in one night, and had left it and all of their property to a different, far less respected family in an odd (unverifiable) will from only a week before their deaths. From then it had been sold on and lived in by Hyperion’s richest and stupidest. Until seven years ago. 

The blaze that swallowed the Quayside house was never found to have a cause. There wasn’t enough evidence, there weren’t enough people that cared. Not after they opened the smoke blackened doors and saw the bodies. Dozens of bodies, sitting charred and cross legged on the floor in every room.

The HCPD identified all of them as missing people from places beyond Hyperion, cities still on Mars but well outside of their domed sky. All had been missing for just a short time, a few weeks at most and a day at the least. And so the case was taken on by Dark Matters. Not publicly, of course. Dark Matters were vampiric when it came to publicity, shying away from the limelight and keeping their business hidden and shadowed.

They don't pass the house in the drive to their hotel, but it's visible on the horizon like a rotten tooth in the predatory smile of the Uptown highscrapers. 

Peter sits behind the wheel of the sleek blue car like there's nowhere he'd rather be. He seems good at that, Juno notes; making himself comfortable, making himself belong. He doesn't talk for most of the ride, but once they park he turns to Juno and flashes his teeth. 

“Now for the fun part. Follow my lead.”

He grabs Juno's hand and drags him through the doors of a suave, if understated, hotel. As soon as they cross the threshold he's a different person entirely. He glues himself to Juno's side, keeping their fingers tightly tangled as if to prevent him from escaping. 

“Hello!” He greets the tired looking receptionist with an abundance of restless energy. “I have a room booked. Duke Rose, that's -” His arm jolts as though Juno has tugged on it, a clever act, and he stutters slightly. “No! I'm sorry! Not Rose - Glenfield, that's it.” He leans in, dragging Juno with him. “Please forget I said that, my wife must never find out. She would be - you know what? If she asks, if she finds out, say I was here  _ alone _ , right?” The receptionist doesn't blink. They stare at Peter and tap something into their computer. “Right. Thank you, dear.” Peter nods for longer than he needs to, lips pulled up into a frenzied grin. 

“Your room is seven twenty. This is your key.” The receptionist gives a tight little smile. “We offer maximum privacy and maximum discretion. Please leave the sign on the door and the key coded jammer in the lock if you do not wish for cleaning for the duration of your stay.” 

“Thank you very much! Come, Magnus darling. Let's get to our - our meeting.” 

“I'm with you.” Juno coughs. They hurry quickly to the elevator, and Peter keeps his hands on Juno even once they're inside. 

“Thank you, I believe that went well.” 

“Duke  _ Rose _ ?” 

“Yes, a name I'm rather fond of, actually. Though usually he's not so…”

“Overbearing?” 

“That would be one way of putting it, yes. I was going to go for  _ enthusiastic. _ ”

“Sure. Who's Magnus, then? Why not Dahlia?”

“Dahlia is Duke's husband, of course. And Magnus? That's for you to decide, Juno. Magnus Stern is a blank canvas for your paint to flow onto.”

“So I'm playing both your husband and your affair.” Juno huffs out of his nose. “Never was much of an artist. I'm better at just doing what I'm told, anyway.” 

“Well, it's never too late to learn. Though there's a lot to be said for following orders.  _ Submitting _ to someone else's design.”

Juno chokes on air and has to push away from Peter to get his breath back. Maybe he should have brought an inhaler. He glances to his partner and glares at the smug satisfaction on his lips. The elevator announces their arrival at their floor and before they step out Peter runs his hand over all of the buttons on the panel. 

“What was that for?” Juno asks, watching him put his hands into his pockets and head cheerfully down the hall.

“Impulse.” 

“You're like a cat.” Juno grumbles. “Knocking glasses off counters and clawing through the glass in the windows just because you can.”

Peter blinks. “Not an unfair assessment, Magnus.”

Juno rolls his eyes and follows him to the room, looping their arms together to keep up the impression of lovers attached at the hip. When Peter opens the door and gestures for him to enter first, Juno keeps up that pretense while switching to high alert to check for danger. It's not something he's done in years, but the Dark Matters Investigation boots are on and they fit snugly like they never left. He keeps carefully relaxed as he surveys the room, sits on the bed and looks around at the ceiling as if appreciating his surroundings while he looks for cameras. He sees Peter do the same, walking into the bathroom with a purposeful air and coming out bare faced and calm. They both evidently come to the same conclusion; all clear, and Peter drops the bag he'd brought from the car onto the floor on the right side of the bed. Then it occurs to Juno.

The bed.

Fucking  _ hell _ .

“What's with this room? Dark Matters in a slump? Can't afford two beds?”

“It fits the trope. Our characters.” Peter doesn't elaborate. “In the morning we'll book ourselves onto a private tour of the most famous murder scenes in the past century and get embarrassingly lost within the Quayside.”

“They let the public inside?”

Peter grins over at him. “Oh, not unless you have a few million creds or a camera crew.”

“You didn't let me check my bank before you dragged me out here, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and tell you I'm probably short on change. And I'm not really one for streams.”

“Me neither. I'll explain the hows of it tomorrow. For now, bed.” 

“Hold on, how come we don't just - I don't know, investigate? Pull out the Dark Matters stops and just get them to open the doors to us?” 

Peter sits on the bed beside him and begins removing his shoes. “Because, Juno, the aim of this investigation is to not look like an investigation at all. It's not public knowledge that Annalise is free, nor is it anyone's knowledge that we're  _ aware  _ that she's free. Dark Matters wants to avoid the news spreading, and they want to lull her into a sense of false security, make sure she's not working hard to not be caught. And we do not want her knowing who is on her trail. I'd rather not end up like those agents of the past.”

Juno's stomach churns. A memory of charred flesh and empty screams. “Yeah. That's fair.” 

“I'm glad you agree.” Peter goes to unbutton his shirt. “I brought you clothes, by the way. I'm assuming you didn't fit any spares into that coat of yours?”

“You didn't exactly give me _ time _ to.”

“Nonsense, I gave you plenty of time. You were alone in your room for two and a half minutes while you insisted upon changing, that's more than enough to pack away a new outfit.”

Juno grumbles and moves around to dig through the bag, half to avoid making a fool of himself while Peter shrugs the shirt off of his shoulders. 

He finds a t-shirt with an absurdly wide neck hole in his size, and a pair of loose, purple pants that might be a little tight but are definitely too large for Peter's frame. When he turns around he nearly drops them as he watches Peter unstrap a knife from his now bare thigh and unclip his shirt garters. It shouldn't be hot - knife notwithstanding - because as well as a shirt garter, his  _ socks  _ are held up by bands of their own that sit above the muscle of his calf. But it is, and the socks do nothing to take away from that. So Juno looks away quickly and further prevents his viewing of the scene by pulling his shirt off over his head. The new one is soft on his skin, and though it's clearly meant to sit with the loose neck hanging over his shoulder, the collar keeps slipping to free his left tit instead while he changes his pants, which is absolutely less than ideal. 

“I'll take the couch.” He offers, voice louder than he was expecting in the quiet that had settled over the room.

“Don't be absurd. We're not children, Juno, we can share a bed. And if it bothers you I will not be having you suffering the night on the couch when I would be the one at fault. I will take the couch.” 

“I'm - we're - I don't think it's childish. I'm not bothered, but you don't have to sleep next to me if you don't want to.” 

“I'd not be anything other than delighted to sleep with you, Magnus darling.” Peter stands up, a good head taller than Juno and clad now in only a pair of boxers and a night shirt that falls down to his mid thigh. Juno chooses to ignore his choice in words, reminds himself of the case. This is probably just for the case. He shouldn't get his hopes up, he shouldn't mess up.

“I bet. Alright, then. I'm - I'll go on the other side, leave you next to your bag.” 

Juno crawls into bed and shuffles across, facing away from Peter and the door as he hears him checking the locks and turning off the ceiling light, leaving only the one at his bedside to light the room. Juno sees his own shadow, a lump of sheet covered shapes, and then a darkness over him as he feels the mattress dip beside him (it doesn't creak, he shouldn't focus on that though). Peter joins him under the covers at a respectable distance and turns off the light. 

Juno shuts his eyes.

When he opens them again the room is still dark. He’s covered in a sticky layer of cold sweat and his every muscle is tense. The memory of a nightmare fresh in his mind; blood and confusion and double vision. The wall in front of him is a greyscale of night-time static and the drawn curtains over the single window are still. He’s safe. He’s in the hotel. He manages to bring himself to look over his shoulder and sees Peter behind him, outlined in pale blue and yellow from the neon that manages to sneak past the curtains. He’s asleep, breathing deeply and making little almost-snores as the breath leaves his open mouth. Juno looks away, sighs, and gives in to an impulse that he knows he shouldn’t. He turns his body softly to face his bedfellow and looks closer. 

Peter’s face is clear of the Martian standard makeup now. There’s no shadow over his eyelids in the dark, his thin lips are bare of any stain. His hair is messy and dark, a squat black halo over the pillow. He’s no less gorgeous for the lack of makeup, which is actually a little frustrating. Leave it to Dark Matters to send their best and hottest. 

He shuts his eyes yet again, and focuses on the sound of Peter’s breathing as he drifts off. It helps.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look! I'm actually posting!! writing is very hard right now :c
> 
> warnings for this chapter!   
\- explosion (just one, and nobody is harmed or put in genuine danger)  
\- descriptions of a panic response to heights  
\- discussions and imagery of burned bodies in line with the rest of this fic

He’s not woken by an alarm in the morning but a firm hand on his shoulder and Peter’s voice in his ear.

“Rise and shine, Magnus.”

Juno groans and rolls over onto his back, blinking his eyes open against the daylight. Peter’s face is just inches from his own, smiling down at him like he’s just thought of a funny anecdote or has seen a puppy fall over its own antenna. His eyes are lined thickly in purple. Juno glares at him.

“What?” 

“Not a morning person, are you?” 

“Not a  _ day  _ person, or a night one. Not a person at all, in fact.” 

“Well you're certainly something, dear. And you need to get up, we have places to be. People to fool.” 

Juno groans and shoos him away so that he can sit up without headbutting Peter. He rubs his eye and rearranges his eyepatch to fully cover the mess on the other side of his face. He knows he shouldn't sleep in it, but he feels far too exposed otherwise. He looks back up at Peter, standing in front of him already fully dressed, looking like he belongs perfectly in amongst the Uptown tourists; slightly garish clothing and artsy makeup that blend perfectly with the jewelry and piercings that Juno suspects to be not part of any character but an affectation of Peter's own that he won't let go of. Peter smirks a little and opens his arms.

“Enjoying the view?” 

Juno sputters. “You better not be expecting me to dress like that.”

Peter pouts melodramatically. “Oh Magnus, don't be so harsh. The style will look lovely on you, and you won't stand out like a run-down thumb.”

“I don't look  _ run down _ !” 

“Mm, say that to your coat. Is it meant to be red, or is that an all consuming stain?” 

Juno grits his teeth. “Fine. Point taken. But you better not dress me like a fucking peacock.” 

Peter rolls his eyes and walks over to the bag of clothes like it's the most ridiculous task he's ever been asked to complete. He pulls out a pair of loose, silken pants and a shirt that's almost see through, then another shirt that  _ is  _ see through, all of which are thankfully more subdued colours than his own ensemble.

“Oh, you've  _ got  _ to be kidding me.” 

“Come on, dress quickly now, I'll be in the bathroom until you're ready for your makeup.”

“I'm not letting you paint my face like a doll, Glass.”

“Oh, it's adorable that you think you have a choice.”

A made-up face is powerful. On a planet like Mars, in a city like Hyperion, the people that walk the streets all wear masks of one kind or another. Makeup or poker faces or masks of a more literal variety; it pays to keep yourself hidden away. 

Juno isn’t one for makeup. That isn’t to say he doesn’t wear it, but smudged eyeliner and a lazy strobe across his cheekbones is practically bare faced in the reality of things. He used to wear more, before his eye. When he was going into the HCPD a painted face was part of the uniform; blue behind the eyes and a rosy cheek to fool the world and the victims within it into thinking their law was sweet and just. Dark Matters was sharp contour and perfect lips, a face for secrecy. 

When he’s got to be presentable, for an event or an inspection, he enlists Rita’s help (Benten has proven himself both untrustworthy and unskilled). Rita, needless to say,  _ adores  _ the opportunity. He’s heard her speech about how it’s  _ just  _ like those old comms games you used to get - the ones where you make up a rabbit until he looks like a princess, only Mista Steel, you’re a  _ lot  _ less likely to bite than those rabbits were, and it don’t get harder and harder with all the fingers you lose until you lose the whole  _ game _ itself - a thousand times at this point. It’s become white noise while she fusses over him, moving him this way and that and smearing things all over his skin. 

Peter's hands are far more sure than hers, but equally as commanding, though that hits Juno in a different way. When Peter takes his jaw in his hand and surveys him like a jeweler it makes Juno swallow hard. He feels exposed, even as each layer of this new mask is applied to him. Peter's eyes are sharp and dark behind those thick rimmed glasses, laser focused as he lines the underside of Juno's eye with something that sparkles with iridescence.

“Are you done ye-”

Peter shushes him. Juno resists the urge to roll his eye for the sake of not ruining Peter's work and having to sit still for another ten minutes of fussing while he tries to fix it.

“You have lovely eyes, Juno.” Peter murmurs, then pauses, his own eyes widening as he realises his mistake. “Eye. Lovely eye.” 

Juno snorts, ignoring the fluttering in his chest from the compliment in favour of studying the blushing embarrassment in Peter's face. This is the first time he's seen him mess up, he thinks. He looks like a rabbit caught stealing candy from vending machines, or Rita when he finds her weird romance audio dramas loaded onto the speaker system at work. It's a cute look.

“Shoulda seen the other one. Much better in a pair.”

Peter's face slips into a small, natural smile. Fond, almost. There's something different in that face, like every expression before now has been carefully crafted but this is entirely real. “I'm entirely sure that's not the case.” He looks down to pick up a tube of mascara. “But regardless, having just the one does make my job here easier.”

“And shorter, I hope.” 

Peter pouts dramatically. “Are you telling me you don't enjoy spending time being dolled up, Magnus?”

“I'm not that kind of a guy.” 

“But Magnus?” Peter prods, carefully applying the mascara, which is very hard for Juno to not flinch away from. 

“Magnus probably does his _ own  _ makeup.” 

“But where's the fun in that when you can have your illicit lover apply it for you, hm?” The mascara is set down and Peter lets go of Juno's face to sort through an assortment of lipsticks.

“I thought Magnus was my character? What happened to painting my own canvas?”

Peter breathes a small laugh. “I didn't think you were interested in that. I thought you were more interested in oh, what was it? Submitting to other people?” 

Juno's face heats up and he opens his mouth to respond but Peter catches his cheeks.

“Perfect. Keep that mouth open.” He orders, uncapping a lipstick with his sharp teeth and holding the lid there as he concentrates on lining Juno's lips. The bold strokes of the colour across them combined with the way Peter plays with the lid with his tongue make Juno's mouth water and for a moment he thinks he might actually drool. Thankfully, he doesn't. Peter pulls away to survey him and he closes his mouth. 

“Blot.” Peter says, holding out a tissue somehow commandingly. Juno complies, takes it and closes his lips over it to pull away the excess colour. Peter looks him over one more time and then nods, satisfied. “Now we may leave. I would have liked to have been able to do something with your hair - braid it perhaps - but we just don't have -"  


"Two hours? Yeah, no. And, no offense, but if we did, I wouldn't trust you to do it. 

"That's a fair distrust, dear, but I assure you, hair styling is one of my many talents." Peter rolls his eyes with a smile and stands, just to bend over right in front of Juno to rifle through his bag. 

Juno looks away immediately. He wants to make a snarky comment about how Peter should bend his knees rather than his back but every time he looks back to do so he gets a faceful of just how well those pants fit and he forgets how to form the words.

Peter stands up and pulls on a coat that looks heavier than it should be. When he turns and sees the flustered expression that Juno can't manage to hide, he smirks. 

Juno stands up and brushes off his shirt. “We going then?”

“Of course. I'll be telling you the plan in the car.” 

The plan turns out to be a relatively simple one. Catch the tour, cause a scene at the Quayside viewing with one of Glass’ Dark Matters gadgets, break into the building through a back door - bypassing the security and climbing a ladder up two stories without being seen, then making sure that their lockpicking doesn't trigger any alarms - and look around. Standard stuff, really. According to Peter, that is. 

They board the tour vehicle as Duke and Magnus and Peter's hands become restless as he fully slips into character. He taps the back of the seat in front of him as they pull out into the stream of traffic, the speaker above them announcing that it will be fifteen minutes before they reach their first stop.

“So, how many stops before the Quayside?” Juno asks, watching Duke's excited surveying of the overhead screens that advertise Saffron Pharmaceuticals. 

Duke turns to him and grins. “Three. I know you're excited to see it, darling, but we just  _ have  _ to see everything on the tour!”

Juno huffs. “Right.” And the speakers pipe up again with a commentary on the first location they’re going to visit. 

It ends up being nice, honestly. The locations not so much, but the acting is fun. Pretending to be Magnus Stern and build this illusion of romance between himself and Duke Rose. Duke knowing too much and talking in excited, hushed tones. Juno listens and watches, paying more attention to him than the places they find themselves in. He observes. Duke is an entirely different person to Peter he thinks, at first. His gesturing, the way he fiddles with Juno’s sleeve almost absently as they’re guided along their tours, the way his voice trills with energy. But as he watches for longer he realises that not everything has changed. Those are still Peter’s eyes. Like a cat’s. A cat baring you its belly while its eyes are slivers of cunning. He’s planning out everything he’s doing, moving the body of Duke Rose like a hand puppet from within. It’s strange, seeing it. Seeing how he doesn’t quite match. Strange, but magnetic. It draws Juno in, makes him want to see more, see how he sheds this disguise and goes back to the predator underneath. 

They reach the Quayside an hour and a half into their trip. It’s exactly as Juno remembers. Big, black and cold. He shivers a little. Duke’s hand comes to rest on the small of his back, reassuringly tangled in the mesh of his shirt. He leans into him, keeping up the facade of a relationship while also grounding himself. He really should have prepared himself for being back here.

The first time he was here, the building was surrounded by holographic police tape and a cloud of smoke that smelled like chargrilled flesh and linen. Now it's surrounded by tourists with cameras and the smoke in the air comes from vaporizers and cigars more expensive than Juno's apartment three times over. The life surrounding the place doesn't do anything to take away from the soul-sucking misery he feels meeting the blackened windows of the building. 

“Are you ready, dear?” Duke pulls him close and speaks into his hair just loud enough for him to catch. When Juno nods, just enough that his hair rustles, he continues. “We'll need to pass that other tour group while we move towards the building. Then we'll head towards the east side.”

Juno groans inwardly and says, through his teeth: “Is that right or left?”

“You - do you genuinely not know east from west?”

“I'm not a fucking compass, Gla- Rose. Just be grateful I know which of my hands makes an L shape.” 

Peter snorts, Juno can feel it against his scalp. “Your left, Juno. The house's right.” 

The last person exits the tour bus and they're ushered towards the house (Juno and Duke take a detour around the group Duke had pointed out alongside two other couples to try and ‘beat everyone else to the sights’). Where once were police lines now stand six foot, mostly transparent holo-walls that are coded to let nobody but those with carded access through. Juno watches the shifting surface of the walls and wonders exactly  _ what  _ Peter is planning.

It's not long before he finds out. Their tour is lead toward the eastern side of the building and Peter controls where he and Juno move as a unit, keeps them just close enough to the outside to not look likely to flee any time soon. 

They come as close to the eastern wing as it seems they'll get, and Peter presses his lips against Juno's head again. 

“Just follow me, darling, and everything will go perfectly well.”

Then there’s an explosion. Startled yelling. Peter is dragging Juno away through a flurry of people. They pass through the holo-wall as though it isn’t there and then they’re pressed against a real wall, hidden from view. Juno gasps and grabs his chest and slows down his thoughts of  _ ohmygodohmygodohmygod  _ until he can get rid of them entirely. Then he turns to glare at Glass. 

“What the  _ fuck _ did you just do?” 

“Caused a distraction, as we planned.” Glass doesn’t look bothered. He fiddles with one of his cufflinks. 

“A  _ distraction _ ? That was a bomb, Glass!” 

Glass chuckles, as though Juno is a fucking idiot, as though it’s so fucking  _ obvious  _ what he’d had planned all along. “Look up, Juno.”

“What, you gonna show me another -”

Glass rolls his eyes and grabs Juno’s jaw to force it upwards. Juno pushes back against it at first, but when his eye catches what’s in the sky he doesn’t fight it. There’s a burst of light, the after-image sticking in his retina as it fades into smoke. And then another, a wide burst and a crackle of smaller lights from the edges. 

“Fireworks.” Juno states.

“Fireworks.” Glass confirms. “Do you really think I would cause an explosion? The point of this entire charade is for our mission to remain  _ secretive _ . Civilian casualties hardly fits that brief, that would be cause for investigation - and just imagine the paperwork! 

“Fireworks, on the other hand, slipped into the bag of a rich, spoiled child and armed with remote detonators, now that’s hardly even cause for concern once the initial shock is dealt with.”

Juno glares at him again and shakes the hand away from his chin. “Just warn me next time, asshole.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Where are we going now?” Juno asks, ignoring the smug smile Glass is wearing that replaces any aspect of his previous persona. 

“Just follow me.” Glass’ smugness takes a sharp turn into an expression that can only be described as devious. 

Juno does so. Single file, they follow an alley half the width of a large rabbit down the side of the house, Juno insisting that Peter go before him and Peter acquiescing with only the barest hint of panic in the whites of his eyes. 

The alley (and Peter) comes to an abrupt stop half way down the length of the building. Next to a ladder. Juno takes a deep breath. This is the part he'd been avoiding thinking about.

He looks up and the world spirals above him. He feels lightheaded, leans back against the wall and focuses on the ladders end, a floor above. To Juno, it feels like miles - light years. 

“Juno, are you okay?” Peter touches his arm and Juno leans into it, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling, focusing on breathing.

“Just peachy, buddy. Just  _ fantastic _ .” 

“...You're afraid of heights.”

It's not a question, but Juno treats it like one. “I'm not. Course I'm not. Nothing scary about heights. Nope. All good here.”

Peter's hand rubs a slow circle into his bicep. “Okay, of course. We can take a moment though, before we climb. I think I myself would appreciate it.”

Juno sighs a lot harder than he'd intended. He hears a small, fond huff of laughter from Peter and the hand on his arm rubs upwards to his shoulder and back. Juno opens his eyes to face the wall in front of him and breathes deeply again. Peter trails his fingers down his forearm. Juno feels his heart settle in his chest. 

“I'm good.” He says. His voice comes steady and quiet. 

“Good. Now, not to hurry us along, but we should be hurrying. Would it be better for you to climb above or below me.” 

Juno's head starts spinning again at the idea and he laughs breathlessly. “Think this is the only time I'm ever gonna ask to be on top.” He turns his head to the side to grin at Peter and is faced with genuine concern and kind amusement that looks incredibly real.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Peter's palm moves back up to Juno's elbow and then down over the back of his hand, pauses there a second, and then is pulled away as he moves towards the ladder. “Onwards we go, then.” He gestures towards the wrought metal thing encouragingly. 

Juno touches it lightly, like it might burn him at any second, scorch the skin from his hands like the flesh from the bodies the house had once held and have him throw himself from it in pain. It doesn't. It's cold. 

He settles his foot on the lowest rung and Peter puts a hand firmly on the small of his back as the other joins it. Then Juno takes a deep, deep breath, holds it, and climbs like a chimp on Earth. He doesn't look down - doesn't look up either, for that matter. Keeps his eye on his lowest hand and just keeps moving on. 

“Well  _ done _ , Juno.” Is a quiet commentary behind him. Juno might find it condescending, at any other time, but he finds reassurance in it now. “Just a little further, now. Almost there.”

He doesn’t stop at the first platform they reach, keeps his momentum and mindset and forces himself to grab at the next ladder without so much as catching his breath. When he reaches the next platform - the one with a large, overly ornate door set into the stonework - he stops and lets himself pant, bracing himself on the wall next to it with his eye closed. He jumps when he feels a hand on his back, but the realisation that it’s just Peter again rubbing circles helps him to relax.

“Wanna get that door open?” He asks when he’s recovered enough to open his eye and stand up fully. 

“Of course. Give me one moment, please.” 

Juno nods. He stares at the wall to avoid being reminded of the height, but once he sees Peter kneel before the lock next to him he allows his eyes to be drawn away. 

Peter pulls out a device from somewhere within his coat and places it carefully onto the pad of the electronic lock. He keys something in, and a panel to his left whirrs and pops open. From there he pulls his shirtsleeves as far up his forearm as he can and pulls out a small, metal tube with three curved prongs. The tube and both of his arms are pushed into the small panel and he keeps his eye on the first device as he fiddles around inside. Juno can see the muscle of his arms moving, lean and toned under the tight shirt. Something clicks, and Peter’s expression morphs from focus to smug satisfaction. He smiles up at Juno. 

“There we go.” He pulls his arms out of the panel, still looking up at Juno with eyes that shine more than the glasses can account for, and then he stands. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Juno huffs and opens the door. It’s a relief to be inside, the safety of the walls giving him the opportunity to forgo object permanence altogether and pretend that they’re on the ground floor rather than anywhere higher. But once that relief passes he’s filled with old dread, the kind that worms its way up through his gut and reminds him that he’s felt this before, and that it doesn’t get any better.

It still smells like a house lived in by generations of smokers, where the stench of tobacco clings to the walls and colours the paper and the paint on the ceilings a sticky yellow. Except the stench here isn’t tobacco. It’s something sweeter, and something darker. The walls are grey and the ceiling black. The floors are metal where the carpet has burned away, the steel the only thing in the entire place that shines even the slightest. As they walk silently down the hall, Peter following Juno as his feet pull him to a place he never wanted to go again, they pass cracked mirrors and burned books. There are areas that the fire clearly permeated less, where the carpet is whole and the walls poke through a little of their original colour, a reminder that it was once a grand place, that it once housed  _ life _ and didn’t just take it. 

Juno leads Peter down the spiral stairs to the first floor, and then down a hall and a second set of stairs until they reach the ground. The stairs touch down in the foyer, where the main set of hulking, double doors stands imposingly, inviting them to leave, to  _ get out now _ . The doors are stained with smoke in a pattern that looks like light on water. Juno stands facing away from them, eye scanning over the worn lines on the tile where police and Dark Matters agents alike had walked from room to room, identifying bodies and trying their best to figure out what this all meant. 

“This is where they found the first bodies.” He says.

Peter nods. His eyes are flying over the room and Juno wonders just what he expects to find. Why  _ exactly  _ they came back to this forsaken place.

“Well. We have more to work with than I expected.” 

“Wanna tell me exactly what it is we're working with at all?”

Peter nods, and begins to explain as he moves forward and crouches next to a scorch mark on the ground

“When this case was originally opened neither the HCPD nor Dark Matters put much effort into discovering exactly how the victims were burned - especially not once they discovered that the burning only happened after death. That's why they never concluded whether or not the house was burned purposefully. They were too busy trying to catch the killer.”

“It was shoddy work.” 

“It was work done under extreme pressure. I'm sure you remember what happened next?”

“Sure. Shoddy work done under extreme pressure.” Juno chose to ignore the second part of what Peter had said. He didn't  _ want _ to remember, not yet.

“Did you want me to explain, or did you want to complain about the depth of study into a case that  _ you  _ were a part of.”

“Is both an option?”

“No. Now hush.” Peter smiles at him, and even with the backdrop of a murder scene Juno zeroes in on those teeth. “So. They concluded that the victims were burned after being injected with lethal amounts of a slowly paralyzing poison, but other than that they did not look deeply into  _ what  _ was used to burn them.”

“So we're back here, years later, trying to find that out for ourselves?” 

“Essentially, yes.”

“Because..? Because what? We need to know before we do anything to try to stop her? To find her fire dealer? Something like that?”

“Essentially.” Peter repeats. He's tracing the patterns of smoke and fire on the wall now with gloved hands.

Juno doesn't want to touch anything, so he doesn't. He stands awkwardly in the one spot and watches Glass putter about, taking samples with cotton buds and plastic bags. He moves like an insect, Juno thinks; quick and sharp, going from one area to another on the scene without any real pattern to it. And then he stands up, brushes off, and his movements are fluid again. 

"Right." He announces. "I have more data to collect around the house, and I'd rather appreciate your help if you'd be willing to offer."

"Not sure how much help I'll be, this ain't exactly my area of expertise." Juno grunts. He feels his shoulders hunch as he draws in on himself. 

"I've read your file, Juno. You have a good eye for detail."

Juno scoffs. Peter gives him a look. He follows him in a lap around the house.

As much as Juno would deny it, his file tells the truth. He has a knack for noticing things: discrepancies, patterns, the slightest change in position of the box of salmon bites he left in his office and explicitly told Rita not to touch. As they walk around it becomes increasingly easier to see the pattern. Perfect spheres. Dozens of them. He sees it in his mind's eye; small, round objects exploding outwards into balls of fire, not hot enough to leave obvious circles to anyone without Juno's talents but hot enough to catch the world around them alight quickly and swallow the house whole. 

"Glass. I think I got something." 

"Oh?" Peter stands from where he'd been taking more samples and focuses intense eyes on him, leaning in to the point that Juno can almost see the outline of his pupils in those dark, dark eyes. As Juno relays what he's seen, those eyes flick away and over the room and his lips pull up into a delighted shark's grin. "My, you really  _ are  _ a talent, Juno. I see it, now that you say, but it's faint. An immediate combustion at a controlled temperature as to avoid recognition, and all activated at the same time - either on the same network receiver or all programmed perfectly." 

Juno flusters at the praise and shrugs. "Wouldn't call using my eye a talent. Sounds like you're the one with the real knowledge here." 

Peter narrows his eyes and smirks at Juno with an expression that's hard to place. "Yes, but without your talent my knowledge would get us nowhere, Juno. It takes two to tango, you know. Or rather -" he steps closer and Juno catches just the hint of his cologne. "- to figure out what strange means of arson was used here." 

His hand catches on Juno's sleeve like earlier; like Rose's had. But Peter's fingers don't twist at the fabric. Juno wonders if he gets the urge to, but if he thinks this is a better way to seduce Juno, to keep him on the case. Juno pulls his arm away. 

"Yeah, well. Have we figured out enough? You need any more evidence to do your tests?" 

"No, I think we're quite finished." Nothing in Peter's face changes to show any acknowledgment of Juno rejecting his advances which - of course it wouldn't, it's an act. It stings a little.

"Great, we going back to that hotel? Or can I go home?"

"One more night at the hotel, dear. Keeping up the act."

"Real theatre kid, aren't you?" Juno snorts, beginning to lead the way back upstairs.

"Thespian, please. I'd like to think of myself as a professional, not just a student." 

Juno rolls his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! thank you for reading this update!! if you're here for more,,,, spicy??? content i now have an nsfw twitter! @redjorts! and as usual my socials are @mxcec on twit and nurgayev on tumblr!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this is the last chapter that i wrote when i first like, started writing this in. mid 2019. wow. hopefully past this point the writing will be! better! but i. may forget some points in the past so bear with me here
> 
> warnings:   
\- food (they are at a meal for a large portion of this)  
\- alcohol (juno drinks wine but does not get drunk)

It's afternoon by the time they return to the hotel. Juno scrubs the makeup from his face as soon as possible, and digs through Peter's bag for something to wear that isn't so  _ Uptown _ . He wishes he'd been at the very least given the  _ suggestion  _ of bringing clothes with him, because the bag is full to bursting with bright colours and offensive fabrics. He ends up in a pair of slim corduroy pants with deeper pockets than he would ever have expected and a shirt similar to the one he'd slept in last night - but with a neckline not  _ quite  _ so loose that his chest is on view every time he moves the wrong way.

He changes in the bathroom and throws the clothes he had been wearing into Peter's smug face - the one that had pouted when he'd told him he was changing and that had been watching him with amusement and no assistance whatsoever as he'd ransacked the bag. 

"Charming." 

"So I've been told." Juno barely stops himself from smirking as Peter pulls the clothes off of himself and runs a hand through his hair to set it back in place.

If they were about to have a conversation it's interrupted by a loud rumble from Juno's stomach that startles him. Shit, he hadn't eaten yet today, had he? 

"Does, uh, does this place have room service?" 

"Of course, but I have a better idea." 

"Is this gonna be an idea I'm gonna  _ like _ ? Because it seems like a whole lot of the stuff you come up with is solidly outside the realm of enjoyment for me."

"Duly noted, and of course it is. I was just going to suggest we go out for a meal."

Juno frowns. "Don't you have stuff to analyse? Shit to go over for the case?" 

"The analysis is being handled by the equipment I brought with me." Glass rolls his eyes as if that should be obvious. He gestures to the small laboratory set up on the desk, where automated processes are being carried out on the evidence collected earlier.

"And that thing doesn't need like, supervision?"

"Not at all. There's a very specialised AI within."

"And it won't go rogue? Try to kill us?"

"You watch too many streams, Magnus. Come on then, let's go to lunch."

Juno grumbles that it's not actually  _ him  _ watching the streams, but Peter (who very obviously morphs into Duke Rose as soon as they're in the hallway) is clearly not paying attention. 

Once they're in the car Duke falls away again and Peter somehow manages to lounge in the driver's seat as he looks through restaurants on his comms. He holds it so that the screen is purposefully out of Juno's sight, it seems, and Juno can't bring himself to give a shit about where they end up. As long as there's food and the portions are reasonable he's fine with whatever.

"Any requests, dear?" Peter hums after a while of scrolling. "I'm not seeing anything particularly enthralling."

"As long as it's edible and within my budget, I'll eat anything." Juno shrugs.

Peter's hum changes it's tone. "I'm sure. And as for budget, you needn't worry about that. I'm paying, of course."

"You're - no you absolutely are  _ not _ , Gla-"

"Ah! I've found something. Seatbelt, Juno. Do you mind if I raise the volume on the sound system? I do like to drive with music. No? Wonderful!"

He twists the dial for the speakers until the radio is louder than Juno could ever hope to talk over and shifts gears to pull out onto the road. Juno glares in his direction, but his expression loses its kick when he sees the wicked smile plastered over Peter's face, genuine and showing all of his teeth. Bastard. Handsome, gentleman bastard.

It takes ten minutes to reach the restaurant, during which time Juno (once he manages to lower the volume of the radio to a more reasonable level) learns that Peter is an absolutely atrocious singer, but that his enthusiasm makes Juno wish he could put in headphones and just watch his face as he sings for hours.

Peter hops out of the car and around to let Juno out before Juno can tell him to fuck off. He also loops his arm through Juno's without so much as asking, which Juno sighs at but can't do much about as Peter drags him towards the restaurant, dropping his car keys into the palm of someone stood nearby. He has a slightly feral grin over his face, and that's how Juno figures he's stuck with Duke Rose for the rest of the evening - or at least until they're seated. 

Duke thanks the man holding open the door to the restaurant and ushers Juno in with a hand on the small of his back. He  _ really  _ has a thing for physical contact, apparently.

They enter into a dim room with a soft, romantic ambience of chatter and cutlery scraping plates. There are electric candles on each table. Juno feels completely out of place. Sure, he's been to places like this before - or, not like  _ this _ but close. That was just... in a different life. A long time ago.

"Do you have a reservation?" A man in a waistcoat asks. 

Duke laughs loudly. "A reservation? Oh absolutely not."

The man blinks at them, confusion written all over their perfectly made up face. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, we require a reservation."

"Do you not know who I am?" Duke huffs.

"I can't say that I -"

"I am  _ Duke Rose.  _ And myself and my husband would like to be  _ seated. _ "

"I -"

"Would you like me to contact Rajesh? I'm sure xe would be delighted to hear that one of xer oldest friends is being _ denied _ a table at xer most successful establishment!"

The man looks alarmed. There's almost a crease in their botox smooth brow. "Of course not." They stammer. "Oh of course not. You'll be seated immediately Mr. - Mr. And Mr. Rose."

"Indeed we will." Duke smiles. He squeezes Juno's arm. "I'm so sorry for the service, my Dahlia. I'm sure they didn't mean to treat us this way."

Juno laughs nervously, not sure how the fuck else he's meant to react. "I'm, uh, I'm sure not. Babe."

Duke's nose scrunches at the weak pet name, but Juno sees a laugh in his eyes. They're quickly lead to a table in the corner, candlelit and secluded, almost buckling under the weight of the ambiance. 

Once they're seated and have been presented with a bottle of wine that Juno would wager is older than Mars itself, Duke slips away quicker than a cred in a sandstorm. Peter relaxes into his chair, filling the space like water - catlike, Juno thinks, not for the first time. 

"That was easy." He remarks. 

"That was - you're something else, Glass. Or - sorry,  _ Rose _ ."

"Why thank you,  _ babe _ ." Peter snorts. "You need to work on your pet names, by the way. Would Dahlia really call Duke  _ babe _ ?"

"Dahlia is just me with his life together. He says whatever he wants." 

"Hm. Can't say I had you pinned for a 'babe' type."

"I'm not." Juno crosses his arms over his chest. 

"Oh? What  _ do  _ you call your - your lovers? Partners? Conquests?"

"Their names, if they're lucky."

Peter chuckles and flashes a smile. "Romantic." He drawls.

"Known for it. You gonna quiz me more on my love life or let me figure out what the fuck I'm ordering?" Juno huffs. He taps the menu against the table for emphasis. 

Peter gestures acquiescence and picks up his own menu. Juno pretends not to notice the amused glances he keeps being sent over top of it that he knows are in response to his frowning at the options. He knows what about half of them are, and gives up trying to decipher the other half after a solid minute of trying to pronounce 'aubergine' in his head. When the waiter arrives to take their order he just goes for what seems the safest bet and downs his glass of wine. 

"So, darling. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“What’s there to know? You not snoop through my fuckin’ files? Dark Matters records?”

“Oh, Dahlia, the Dark Matters security is some of the best in the known universe, almost uncrackable.” 

Juno squints at him, sees an excited glint in his eyes and a tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Most people would say  _ completely _ .” He comments. 

The tugging turns into a sly smile and Peter examines the tablecloth. “Yes, I suppose they would.”

“So you know everything there is to know about me.”

“Don’t be absurd. So, yes. I may have managed to sneak a glance at your professional file. But that file is on  _ Dahlia Rose _ . Juno Steel? An entirely different person, I’m sure. And - at that - a person who has had a good few more years of life than Dahlia Rose.”

Juno snorts. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“Squeezing conversation from you is like blood from Sardonesian concrete, darling.”

“Just how I like it. Stop squeezing.”

“Mm, I’ll consider. If you stop being so bossy.” 

Peter winks, then Duke is back as their meals are brought to the table. He claps excitedly and delights at the ‘aroma’ of it all, at one point ‘accidentally’ jolting his wine glass so that it splashes onto the table and the waitstaff fuss over cleaning it up. 

Juno waits until they’re left alone again and he's sated the immediate pangs of hunger with a good few mouthfuls of food before making any comment.

“You really like playing a character, don’t you?”

“We all have our hobbies.” Peter stabs at whatever's on his plate. Something green. With leaves. Juno doesn’t trust it. 

“Hobbies usually come with some kinda story. Where’d you pick that one up?"

“You’re avoiding talking about yourself, darling.”

Juno narrows his eye. He scrutinizes Peter’s expression, his movements, micro-movements, and comes to the delightful conclusion that he’s avoiding the exact same thing. He doesn't want to talk about himself. 

"Tell you what." Juno says, taking a moment to chew a bite of his meal before finishing the thought. "If I tell you about myself, you do the same.”

“Tell you about yourself?”

“Now who’s avoiding?”

Peter sighs. “Alright, I’ll play your game. So long as I may ask my question first.” 

“Shoot.” 

Peter leans back in his chair and makes a show of running his eyes down Juno’s torso as he thinks. “What is your brother like?”

Juno blinks. Huh. That’s not…  _ exactly  _ what he was expecting. More poking at his love life, maybe. Or his time in Dark Matters. “Benten?” He frowns. “He’s, uh, good? Nice, I guess? He’s my brother, y’know?"

"I'm afraid I don't." Peter shrugs. There's a strange sort of sadness in his eyes. "Did he help you much, when you lost your eye?"

"He - wait, no! My question. What about your family. What are they like?" 

That sadness increases, a wince in Glass' eyes that he manages to keep from showing on his body. "They're no longer with us." He taps his hand against the table. "But I suppose they were nice. Good people." He barely allows for breath before changing the subject. "My question from before; did Benten help you when you lost your eye?" 

"He - yeah. As much as he could, y'know? Helped me figure out depth perception n' shit. Stopped me from living at the bottom of a bottle." He rubs his neck. "Probably wouldn't be here without him."

Peter is quiet. 

"Did you have any siblings?" Juno pokes at the food left on his plate. 

"I don't know." Peter says. There's still that sadness in his eyes; it's started trickling out into his expression, showing more. Lines on his forehead, a frown on his mouth. "I don't suppose so. I think I would remember." He shakes his head and dons a mask of playfulness. "Oh, but I must ask the most important question, dear. Is there anyone in your life right now? Anyone _ special _ ?" 

"Yeah, sure. My left hand." Juno snorts. "Hey, back to my first question. Where'd you pick that hobby of yours up? The acting thing?" 

"In a past life."

"Before Dark Matters?"

"Yes." 

"What did you do?

"I believe you've used up all your questions." Peter smiles. He sticks his hand straight up into the air and waves. "Bill, please." He trills, prompting a waiter to materialise and slap a piece of paper into the outstretched hand.

Juno huffs. He lets Peter lead him by the hand back to the car and then the hotel without posing the question again, but when they reach the room, he can’t  _ not  _ ask. He sits on the bed and watches Peter mess around with the lab on his table

"I was a cop." He says. He tries to control his tone, but it still comes out expectant, still obviously a request for information. "Or - I was  _ gonna be  _ a cop."

"They caught you early then?" 

"Yeah. I guess. Straight out of the Academy; approached me in a bar and told me I was 'too good to waste my time there'." He scoffs without meaning to. "Thought the guy meant the bar, at first." 

"Were you too good?" 

"Not for the bar, no. Cops, though… I guess. I mean - I fuckin' hope so." 

"The police in Hyperion  _ are  _ renowned for being corrupt." 

Juno scoffs. "Sure, they are  _ now _ . But when I was a kid? A teen? Nobody told me that. Nobody sat me down and showed me where their money came from. I was young, naïve, and  _ hopeful _ ." 

Glass sits beside him and places a hand tentatively on his shoulder. "You weren't told the full story." His voice is quiet. "And you believed the lie fed to you."

Juno frowns. "Sounds like you have experience with that too. Care to share?" 

Peter winces, just enough for Juno to catch before he stops himself. "No. I wouldn't say I have experience with that."

"Well what  _ do  _ you have experience with?" Juno backtracks. "I mean - what did you do before?”

Peter leans back, assessing Juno thoughtfully. “Nothing so courageous as public service.”

“I won’t judge.” Juno shrugs one shoulder.

“I was a thief.” 

Juno blinks, takes it in a moment. Then he shrugs again. “Yeah. I could see that.” 

Peter snorts.

“No, seriously. That - that does make a lot of sense. You got this whole, ah,  _ homme fatale _ thing going for you.”

“Mmh. Is that so?" 

"Don't look so smug."

"Smug? Who's smug?  _ I'm  _ not smug."

"Yeah, yeah. What did you steal?"

"Nothing much." Peter looks away. "Nothing you'd know about."

"Money?"

"When needed."

"Who from?"

"Whoever was richest and stupidest." 

Juno huffs. "Anything other than money?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

Peter rolls his eyes and lies back on the bed. "Okay. Maybe more than sometimes."

"Why?"

"I got paid well for the things I would take. And I was good at it." He lifts his head and shows Juno his teeth. "And, well, it was fun." 

"Fun?"

"Of course. That  _ is  _ where my penchant for dramatics comes from. My alternate identities." 

"So you'd - what, make a game of it?" Juno lies down next to him. He folds his arms behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. 

"In a way, I suppose. Would you consider our time so far on this investigation a game?"

Juno considers. "I mean - I don't know." 

"Do you not  _ play  _ often, Juno?"

Juno turns his head to the side to glare at Peter, and is instantly distracted by the wicked twinkle in his eyes. 

"Depends what you call a game." He quips.

Peter's smile grows and he rolls onto his side languidly, lifting himself into his elbow and looking down at Juno like a predator.

"Would you like to know?" He asks. "What I consider a game?"

Juno's stomach rolls, a wave running cold under his skin. A  _ game _ . Remember, Steel. He's  _ playing _ . He's here on a mission - he's flirting because he's on a mission and he's got to keep him interested and _God_, Juno's an easy target. Always caught by a pretty face.

"Maybe another time, Glass. I'm tired." He rolls over and pushes himself up off the bed. "Think I'm gonna take a nap."

"Oh. Of course, Juno." Glass sounds slightly surprised. He's probably used to people falling for him quicker. Not that Juno  _ hasn't  _ fallen, but that's beside the point.

He changes, sleeps, and dreams of fire. Of chainmail, monsters. And of foxes teeth in a blackened skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay im sure mr simes is a wonderful singer but the idea of nureyev being a fuckin Awful singer?? way too funny to me


End file.
